


Bonds of the Flesh Part Two

by HistorianVeronica



Series: Star Wars: Politics of Empire [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode V Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Episode VI Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Allusions to Plagueis's abuse of his apprentice, F/M, Gen, Jenrelm's dashing natural gallantry, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Canon situations and backstories, Partially AU, Sith tarot is a bit different, Tarot, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vader's deliberate Dark gallantry, non-canon relationships, occasional salty language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistorianVeronica/pseuds/HistorianVeronica
Summary: This story is mainly canon, but set in my long-extant Politics of Empire universe, which has mainly appeared in fanzines and a few places on the internet. This story begins prior to the attack on Hoth in TESB and concludes on the eve of ROTJ. Some situations and relationships are canon, but some alternate details crop up -- especially the concept that the Emperor Palpatine has aged and withered slowly from the passage of time and increased use of Dark Side energies/sorcery as many fans assumed prior to Palpatine's ROTS transformation. During this story, he looks as he does in ROTJ, but this has been a gradual development.When the story opens, Vader is frantic to find Luke, to form a trinity of Darkness, while Palpatine is far more ambivalent. The two Sith have a romantic friendship that is sometimes fraught with erotic tension but no sexual relationship... Commander Treylan Jenrelm, the dashing head of Imperial Military Intelligence (and Vader partisan), is recently separated from his long-term companion, Civilian Intelligence Director Jon Kalendra. Intrigue and drama ensue.It is best to read Part One before reading this second installment in the long story.
Relationships: Darth Plagueis and Darth Sidious, Darth Sidious/Darth Vader, Darth Vader and General Tamaris Hardren-Vader, Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine and Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine and Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine and Luke Skywalker, Treylan Jenrelm and Jon Kalendra, Treylan Jenrelm and the Emperor Palpatine
Series: Star Wars: Politics of Empire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1160510
Comments: 19
Kudos: 12





	1. Jabba and Jenrelm's Fates (Chapter renamed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks after his last visit to Coruscant, Vader belatedly learns of Jabba's fate -- and of another missed opportunity to find Luke Skywalker. A tense conversation with his master ensues. 
> 
> A week later, Vader continues to plan for contingencies.
> 
> Jenrelm follows up with family and Imperial business.
> 
> The next chapter deals with the Second Death Star.

**Chapter 1 [Thirteen weeks after Bespin]:**

“ _Tatooine?_ ” Alone in his private study, Palpatine swore savagely under his breath in Sith. Halfway across the galaxy in his own ship's quarters, his Dark Lord heard the obscene archaic words, and sympathized. They were nearly identical to his own when he first learned this information late last night. “I thought Jenrelm had warned Jabba of Leia Organa’s imminent probable rescue mission.”

“He did. Apparently in his arrogance, Jabba believed he had the situation well in hand.”

“Why did that slug not contact us immediately?” the ruler demanded. “Surely he knew damned well that we’ve been hunting Skywalker these past three years. The Hutts are among the canniest and best-informed creatures in the Empire. Their criminal activities depend upon it. Why the _hells_ would Jabba dispose of a prominent Jedi Knight – the infamous destroyer of the Death Star – whose face appears on wanted posters and holos across the galaxy, in a…a _fanged pit?? Is that what you really said?”_

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“It is.” Even at this distance, Vader could sense his master’s odd, nuanced umbrage: a twist of possessive insult on behalf of their long-postponed Triumvirate of Darkness, laced with indignation at this treatment of Vader’s son. To say nothing of his dismayed fury that they’d lost yet another opportunity to locate and intercept Luke – when Palpatine had only agreed to a six-week pause before he sent his own Jedi-hunters and proxy agents back into the field.

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Three weeks ago.

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Vader was incessantly hyperaware of each day passing, ruing every lost hour - the deadline as sinister as the backward-running clock on a time bomb. He currently possessed nothing valuable enough to barter for an extension and likely never would, unless Palpatine’s health suffered a dramatic and significant setback requiring the Dark Lord’s intervention. The Rebels had not gathered near Sullust, despite several MI sources confirming that plan. Was it merely a delay, then, or a highly successful Alliance disinformation campaign? Force alone knew….

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He had three weeks remaining. Twenty-odd days in which to find Luke before detectives and Jedi-killers were back on the boy’s trail. Worlds had fallen to Vader’s control in far less time. And Palpatine’s searchers would need to begin again, presumably, from scratch. That is, if the Emperor had kept his end of the agreement…

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Tension scrabbled in Vader’s gut, held at bay only by his steely will. The Dark Lord clung to the admittedly cold comfort that if he, with their increasingly potent blood bond, could not find his son, then surely the Emperor’s agents would face the same infuriating challenges and obfuscations.

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Still….

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Yavin, Hoth, Dagobah, Bespin. And now Tatooine. All within the space of half a calendar year, and with each time and place these several months, Vader and the Empire had scrambled to follow. The near-misses of Hoth and Cloud City were agonizing and humiliating enough... But this latest development was nothing less than outrageous.

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Tatooine, of all forsaken places – when the Empire knew that Skywalker had urgent reason to go there. Yet MI’s contacts in Jabba’s court had fallen silent. Had they feared the Hutt’s wrath too much to reveal Luke’s presence two weeks ago, or had events too quickly overtaken them? Vader cursed himself silently for not simply sending his fleet to surround the system as soon as the _Millennium Falcon_ escaped into hyperspace outside Bespin…. But then, no doubt, other parts of the Empire would have erupted into revolt or civil war, as soon as the Rebels confirmed that the _Executor_ fleet was, for all intents and purposes, temporarily immobile.

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“At least half Jabba’s entourage,” Vader added as if it were some dim consolation, “died on that sail barge. I suppose I should be glad that his majordomo survived to belatedly contact me.”

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“Indeed; it seems we must find satisfaction in the smallest things these days.” The Emperor laughed briefly: one syllable of dark irony that held no actual real humor. “Should I send Jenrelm back to your fleet?” he asked. “Would that somehow assist MI in its duties?”

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The Dark Lord frowned behind his mask as he pondered the question. He’d assigned Trey as Palpatine’s escort to ceremonial functions to spare himself that distracting duty. But in the several weeks since that decision, Jenrelm and the ruler each differently had confirmed the officer’s value to Palpatine’s stamina and morale – and perhaps even his long-term survival.

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As much as Vader hated admitting it to himself, Trey’s growing indispensability roused the warlord’s formidable jealousies and resentments. Vader wondered how his fading master could still elicit such primal passions; perhaps it was a kind of sorcerous, seductive instinct that transcended vigor or even conscious awareness. Vader’s uncomfortable emotional reality aside, Jenrelm remained Vader’s effective proxy and informant. Trey’s reports reinforced what Vader sometimes detected from his link with Palpatine, telling Vader more about the ruler’s strengths and weaknesses, his good and bad days and inexorable decline, than Palpatine or perhaps the MI officer consciously deigned to reveal.

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Then there was Trey’s urgent need to resolve his filial crisis, lest the rift between Jenrelm and his dying father send Trey into a self-destructive spiral that could make his estrangement from Kalendra seem minor by comparison. It might happen anyway, when Anason Jenrelm perished. But for every day or two Trey resided on Coruscant, he dutifully spent some extended hours with his family on Corulag. It might not heal their dynastic scars, but it was far more than Treylan had granted them in decades... and perhaps enough to obtain those dearly needed WeatherNet components. Last week, Jenrelm Enterprises made discreet inquiries via politically liberal business contacts – most likely Anason Jenrelm’s once-Republican allies – and indirectly received encouraging replies from Governor Tikuma of Chandrila....

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But, perhaps most importantly, Jenrelm’s absence from _Executor_ kept him away from Vader’s son.

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Whenever the Dark Lord finally acquired his wayward offspring, he wanted the volatile MI commander nowhere near the boy. Now that Jenrelm was fiercely protective of Palpatine as well as Vader, the younger Sith was even more determined to keep Trey far from Luke – whom Jenrelm believed to be not only a high-ranking Rebel and Jedi, but also an aspiring parricide and regicide. Trey had expressed those angry concerns more than once these past several months….

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“I am sure the Hutts are maneuvering against each other for Jabba’s position,” Palpatine observed irritably, rising stiffly from his chair to pace in front of his desk. Vader wondered if the older man could really afford this characteristic expenditure of energy. After everything the warlord had witnessed, and the chances he’d taken, during his last visit to Coruscant three weeks ago, Vader doubted the monarch should be wrathfully prowling his office. “In Jenrelm’s absence, is his second-in-command competent enough to determine which candidates may be worth backing?”

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“Sefton seems quite capable,” Vader replied.

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Palpatine met his gaze and paused a moment, before he nodded and resumed pacing. The Dark Lord noticed the hesitation. “Were you going to say something?” he nudged.

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“Merely that there must be _someone_ in that distasteful circle who is useful to our purposes.”

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Somehow Vader knew that was not what Palpatine had considered. He sighed silently, wishing his master would sit down again. From profile, the man looked positively skeletal.

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Two days after his visit to Coruscant, Dr. Paldiri had courageously, dutifully sent Palpatine his diagnoses and several prescriptions – including new medications and nutritional supplements – via MI courier. The physician had received no acknowledgment, but neither had Palpatine demanded the doctor’s execution, imprisonment, or demotion. Thankfully the elder Sith’s lab results, while distressing, revealed nothing as dire as the galaxy’s few remaining incurable cancers... and nothing quite as horrible as the other dreadful scenarios Vader tended to conjure in the wee hours of sleepless nights.

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Nor had Palpatine seemingly followed up with the brain and body scans Paldiri recommended. Perhaps the sovereign was at least treating his dangerously erratic blood pressure, scrambled electrolytes, and chronic respiratory infections, and would contact Paldiri for more medications or advice when needed. Knowing the Emperor as he did, however, Vader wasn’t counting on it.

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Last week, Vader had summoned his fortitude and asked Palpatine to share Paldiri’s findings and advice, only to receive stony silence in reply. Yet they conversed about other topics as usual – with holographic and voice communications, textual messages, and written reports, depending on their moods and the gravity of matters under discussion – three or four days a week and sometimes more frequently. For nearly a month now, Vader had managed to conceal most of his distress and offense, to say nothing of his inappropriate growing resentment of Treylan Jenrelm, whom he himself had sent to the Emperor.

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“He really would have _killed_ the boy, rather than trade him to us for an enormous reward…?!” The ruler’s lingering outraged disbelief burned acridly in their link.

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As soon as Luke had escaped Bespin, Vader had realized he might try to rescue his carbonite-encased friend, Han Solo. But he’d also known Luke would first require medical attention in the Alliance fleet. Indeed, one of MI’s Rebel informants had confirmed Skywalker’s new prosthetic hand and several days of occupational therapy. It would require months of training – as the Dark Lord knew from personal experience – for Skywalker to fully master the lightsaber once more. Yet within weeks of escaping Cloud City and his father, Luke had rashly traveled to Tatooine to save Solo, even if it meant confronting the Hutt gangster and his criminal entourage.

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“It seems Jabba planned Skywalker’s execution as an object lesson, no doubt to demonstrate his ruthless authority.” Vader’s own fury at the thought, to say nothing of Luke dying for such a foolish reason in such a disgusting place, rang coldly in his syllables.

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Palpatine sank into the closest armchair. “And now the remnants of that court will scramble to find a new patron.” The Emperor abruptly sounded drained and demoralized, no matter the considerable stamina Vader had poured into him three weeks ago. To say nothing of Jenrelm’s energy transfers or Paldiri’s efforts. “Let us hope none of those mercenaries and thugs dare to contact me.”

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“If any do, I trust Filene will reprimand them as they deserve.”

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The older man smiled thinly. It was rather amusing to imagine the mild-mannered, elegant elderly secretary turning his exceedingly rare – and thus, actually rather intimidating – displays of righteous anger onto Jabba’s unsavory band of murderers, whores, and thieves.

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Clouds shifted in the Capital’s mostly overcast sky, sending a ray of wintry sunlight across Palpatine’s withered features. In the unforgiving illumination, the sovereign looked particularly wan and cadaverous. Vader recalled the death-smell, the psychic hints of blood and dissolution, underlying his master’s familiar fragrance and aura when the Dark Lord was last on Coruscant. He remembered the older Sith’s corpselike skin, cold to the touch long after Vader had piled blankets atop him and finally wrapped himself around the monarch’s gaunt shivering form. He barely repressed a visible shudder.

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“Is Jenrelm on Coruscant?” Vader asked almost nonchalantly, banning unwelcome concern from his utilitarian question and managing to keep his tone neutral. Regardless, a scarlet lance of jealousy impaled his chest. He was glad that at this distance, Palpatine could not read his aura, much less his actual thoughts.

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“No. Perhaps tomorrow. I have not yet decided if we should attend the theater.”

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“Good.” Vader was so torn that he did not know which part of Palpatine’s reply he actually addressed, or which pleased him the most.

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Jenrelm realized it was an important day when his ailing father, wrapped in a heavy plush dinner jacket and assisted by a brawny manservant, made the considerable effort to join them for afternoon tea and pastry. Moreover, Lilia personally had prepared and served the refreshments, rather than entrust the task to the household staff. Treylan gazed around the table at three generations – the children prettily dressed and combed and quiet as they gazed, big-eyed, at the adults over their servings of sweet wafers and fragrant steaming tea and milk. Even Trey’s nephews and nieces sensed the solemnity of the occasion.

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Anason made no snide remark or grimace when Trey asked for kafin, the only one who partook of that beverage in the afternoons. That Coruscanti influence – such a minor cultural difference, hardly indicative of Imperial insolence or the Capital’s supposed decadence ( _You should see the glittering nightclubs I frequent, Papa, or the gleaming venues where I attend the Emperor himself!_ ) – was sometimes grounds for the Jenrelm patriarch’s sarcasm. Instead Anason smiled benignly upon his family, waiting as Lilia poured steaming kafin into a fragile porcelain cup and handed it to their only son.

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“When I finally received your short list of bridal candidates two weeks ago,” Trey’s father began in his weakened thready voice, the rebuke only mostly implied, thank the gods, “I personally contacted their heads of family to ascertain more details. So far, three have fully disclosed their financial, real estate, and dynastic assets and investments, as well as the marriage settlements they were prepared to offer up front and the portions they would posthumously leave to their daughters and their daughters’ offspring.”

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Treylan nodded, looking as serious and focused as he could, even as the conversation abruptly felt surreal, like a sort of bad dream. Anason and his peers handled marriage contracts and legitimate begettings they way they managed or thought about any other business arrangements – logically, in terms of profits and loss, short-range risks and strategic long-term dividends, complete with compounded financial and familial interests. Trey had expected nothing better or worse, but his father’s purely mercantile tone made a bubble of helpless dark laughter well up in Trey’s throat.

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“The Venika clan, central to the Anaxes shipyards,” Anason began his presentation, handing over a datapad for his son to see the evidence for himself. “They have investments in other Core conglomerates as well, but seem to have suffered significant setbacks this decade – perhaps with the steady erosion of Naval contracts from your Empire. Seinar Systems may have permanently eclipsed them…. I made inquiries about their eldest daughter, but I’m sure we can arrange a better match.”

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Trey ignored the “your Empire” remark. Given Anason’s mild tone, the man apparently baited him out of sheer reflex. The younger Jenrelm scanned the columns of facts and figures, trying to recall when he’d heard of the Venikas in the course of his MI duties. He toggled to her personal profile.

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Iris Venika looked vaguely tragic, as befitted an heiress with ebbing prospects. She had black ringlets, brown skin, and lustrous dark eyes. “She studied Core literature and languages,” Trey mused aloud. Not some intellectual lightweight, then, primarily suitable for hostessing dinner parties and mothering Jenrelm heirs, although those things, and her fading fortune, were at the forefront of Anason’s concerns. “She has an advanced degree in comparative cultures.” He wondered whether Iris’ family had benignly tolerated such unnecessary personal ambition and effort, the way his own parents had languidly encouraged Trey’s advanced studies at the Academy before he’d shocked them all by joining the Imperial military.

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“She’s really pretty,” his oldest nephew Jorgan remarked, leaning over to stare at the datapad. Had Treylan behaved in such a fashion three decades ago, Anason would have cuffed him for not sitting silently while the adults conversed. Instead his father merely chuckled and patted his grandson’s arm.

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Indeed, Iris was lovely. She might even be interesting.

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“She has a flower name, like Mama and Roselyna do,” Trey’s sister Carlen observed, smiling encouragingly.

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Treylan handed back the datapad and drank more of the rapidly cooling kafin. “Indeed.” He refused to see it as an omen. “Show me the others, Papa.”

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Anason keyed in a few symbols. “Honor Rahheas,” he said, turning a young blonde holographic image in Trey’s direction. “She is of Alderaani noble stock, although her mother is of Corulag’s industrial elites.”  
  
  
“Fortunately,” Lilia chimed in, “they moved their home to our planet some years ago.”

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Lest someone mention the Death Star, the Throne, Lord Vader, or Alderaan’s tragic fate – the MI officer smiled at Roselyna’s boy. “What about this one? Do you think she’s pretty too?”

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“I guess.” Jorgan yawned, beginning to lose interest. Privately, Trey understood the feeling.

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Lilia pushed the plate of sweets toward her clustered grandchildren. “Just one more before dinner,” she instructed before turning to Trey again. “Honor’s father was impressed,” she said brightly, “that you won the Alderaani Languages Prize. His ancestors helped establish it, generations ago.”

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Lest their conversation turn to Imperial politics or his parents’ formerly strong ties to Republic elites, Treylan studied Rahheas’ image and biography, then her financial prospects and dowry offerings. Her family fortune and connections were quite impressive, and calculatedly diverse, with new ties to Imperial corporate and research interests forged over the last two decades. Yet her eyes were empty and he had no emotional reaction to her whatsoever – save for his own reluctance and self-loathing, which grew stronger by the minute.

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He vividly imagined the contempt both his Sith lords would surely feel for these proceedings: for the dry commodification of what should be intense, personal questions of passion and affection, destiny and partnership and dynasty. And how disgusted Jon would be at Trey’s surrender to the sort of cold transactional arrangement he’d evaded his whole adult life – to say nothing of how these potential brides may as well be prizes in a vast galactic sabbaac game. He could see Kalendra’s face in his mind’s eye, stricken with stern disapproval at the cynical and empty materialism of it all.

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Trey half-stifled his hopelessness with a discreet cough, attempting to swallow it down with a sip of equally black kafin. He was far too sober to bear the awful weight of his thoughts and feelings. His kafin was entirely too pure, with nary a drop of alcohol to alleviate the bitterness. He craved one of his spiced cigarettes, although it was hours too early for that. He could vividly imagine his mother’s lecture and his father’s icy anger, should he take a break to indulge that “filthy habit” now….

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But then, like dawn breaking sooner than usual, came an unexpected moment of potential redemption: “Alina Mosi Garen,” Anason continued, “is the wealthiest of them all.” His chilly eyes bored into his son’s echoing green-grey gaze. “An only child, she will inherit an enormous fortune when her elderly parents die – with numerous interests across the Core and Mid-Rim. The Mosi holdings have expanded even into the Outer Rim in recent years.”

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The MI officer riveted on the information his father held up – not even really seeing the woman herself. She could have been ancient or ugly for all he cared, may the distant gods forgive him, although she was neither. Instead Trey studied her family’s mindboggling array of corporate, industrial, and real estate investments, an involuntary cold smile spreading across his features. A young childless widow, Alina Mosi Garen would soon possess a chunk of seemingly every prominent mega-venture in the galaxy. Thanks to her late husband, she already controlled nearly one-half of Climatic Solutions, Incorporated.

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Treylan’s heart pounded wildly in his chest. He looked up again into Anason’s self-satisfied, gleaming stare. The senior Jenrelm had already made inquiries with friends and business contacts, who in turn had third- or fourth-party connections to various elites on Chandrila. But this was just as promising – and possibly even better. Quicker, more assured….  
  
  
“Yes, Treylan,” the older man murmured, triumph in his ragged voice. “She owns forty-eight percent of WeatherNet Technologies, on Chandrila. Sway merely one or two fellow investors, and you can dominate the concern.”

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Trey recognized when he was defeated, or when he’d unexpectedly suddenly won – and he wasn’t quite sure what sort of moment this was. All he knew was how relieved and proud both his Sith lords might be after all, if he played this game to its successful conclusion.

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What was a marriage, after all? A mere economic contract, in many parts of the galaxy. At least a young widow was no shrinking virgin, perhaps needing to be wooed and coaxed into the marriage bed – although Treylan had never had any real trouble on that front. Gods knew Jon was with Piett now, and had no use for him any longer. Gods also knew Trey would be away on _Executor_ most of the time anyhow for the next twenty years or so….

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_ If _ _Lord Vader survives his reunion with Skywalker…._

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And would Palpatine survive any of it, if Jenrelm married, became a father, and spent less time on Coruscant? Who else would lend the ruler stamina? Who might help protect Palpatine from Skywalker, if Vader was too emotionally compromised?

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_Or worse still, if Vader dies first?_

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_Stop it…!_ Jenrelm’s thoughts veered from those familiar fraught topics. He had to focus on here and now.

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He heard his own voice murmur, seemingly from very far away: “Thank you, Papa. Arrange the next step. I’d very much like to meet Alina, as soon as possible.”

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There was a startling eruption of activity as his usually reserved family burst into festive motion. Lilia squeezed his arm, promising to retrieve her mother’s betrothal ring from the family vaults. His brothers-in-law pumped his hand and slapped his back in what seemed genuine hearty goodwill. Roselyna beamed. Carlen hugged him, astonishingly wet-eyed, saying something about the hormones making her sentimental. The children clapped and chattered, happy in the contagious good mood.

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No matter that he was a former field officer who spent inordinate time in the company of Sith lords, Trey actually jumped when someone popped open a bottle of champagne – _champagne!_ – as if Anason had already known the outcome of today’s family meeting, and had a celebration just waiting in the wings.

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But of course he had.

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As the servants presented silver salvers of crackers and pate and caviar, Trey glanced to his father once more. Anason leaned back regally in his chair, still smiling, looking like a proud patriarchal bird of prey surveying his vast domain, and not the dying old man he truly was.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Always-conflicted Vader is even more ambivalent than usual! He occasionally misses his sirenic master even as he knows he should usually avoid him -- especially when they have recently had intense and/or nostalgic interaction.  
> 2\. They still don't have Luke, but at least maybe the WeatherNet problem will soon be fixed.  
> 3\. I've just posted a new scene. Chapter two now deals with the 2nd Death Star.  
> 4\. More soon!


	2. The Delayed Second Death Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the Death Star actually makes its appearance.
> 
> Vader goes to the battle station on a secret and problematic errand. Things go downhill from there, rather predictably for Grand Moff Jerjerrod, and very unexpectedly for the Dark Lord of the Sith.

“My lord,” Grand Moff Jerjerrod almost stammered, walking nearly in double-time. Of average height, the officer needed three or four footsteps to keep up with two of Vader’s ordinary strides across the shuttle bay, and the Dark Lord was in no mood to accommodate him. “If you had only given me more notice, I could have organized a proper welcoming reception.”

Disinclined to waste more time than he needed to, this was precisely why Vader had contacted Jerjerrod only about a quarter-hour before his arrival on the incomplete second Death Star. “I will not be here long,” he replied. “I merely wish to make certain that the Emperor’s Throne Room and adjoining personal quarters receive top priority – particularly the additions I specified two weeks ago.”

“Of course. But as you know, Lord Vader, the original plans included no separate medical facilities for His Majesty….”

“Surely your _extensive_ cutting-edge team of engineers, architects and designers can make such alterations with relative alacrity and ease. You do realize that the more this battle station runs over schedule, the longer other important Imperial projects will suffer for the delay?”

Jerjerrod swallowed hard. “Certainly.” A muscle jumped in the man’s jaw, but he said nothing more.

Vader turned his broad back and stalked down the corridor. They passed a gleaming bank of elevators without a second glance. Soon they approached a sealed entrance with an intricate data-key panel.

The Dark Lord punched in his private code, and the airlock opened to reveal a separate turbolift that would speed them to the Death Star’s highest level. “They… the Emperor’s quarters are not yet ready for inspection, sir,” Jerjerrod ventured.

“I did not expect them to be,” Vader replied tonelessly. “At least not completely. But I was notified that the medical bed had arrived days ago. Surely it has been installed by now?”

“I… I do not know, my lord.”

“Well, then we shall find out together.” The lift doors whooshed open, and they rode upward together in a half-minute of tense silence.

Jerjerrod was theoretically correct, of course. Palpatine rarely left the security of the Palace, much less Coruscant, and had intended no such arrangements. The Emperor had designed a small sitting area near the tower Throne Room, with a couple of chairs and a couch upon he might rest should he have any unlikely reason to remain aboard for more than a few hours. Vader’s expansive suite, by contrast, had been included years ago in the original plans for both Death Stars.

The Dark Lord’s chambers were spacious enough to house both Sith, should the sovereign need to visit the new battle station…. But capacity and comfortability were not Vader’s truest concerns, no matter what he chose to tell Jerjerrod.

The lift came to a smooth perfect stop. Stepping out of the elevator with Jerjerrod a respectful pace behind him, the Dark Lord gazed up the imposing staircase leading to the Throne and its enormous circular window. The raised dais was, of course, empty. Yet something about the place sent a spike of mingled adrenaline and dread through Vader’s bloodstream. Rather than climb the steps, he turned left toward a shadowed recess leading to an elegant trio of rooms.

The warlord scanned the reception area, with its conference table and tall formal chairs. Just beyond it was a more comfortable parlor, holding deep armchairs and the specified couch. But past that space, tucked discreetly into the massive round window alcove, was the diagnostic bed and additional medical equipment Vader had specified.

Palpatine never would occupy this suite or Throne Room, if Vader had any say in the matter… The Dark Lord protested whenever the ruler privately mentioned his new plan to lure Skywalker and the Rebels here by offering his own assassination as bait. Yet if Vader could not prevent the Emperor’s visit, at least here Palpatine could be medically evaluated, and discreetly so, should Vader deem it necessary. If push came to shove (and Vader hoped it might not quite literally play out that way), the Dark Lord was willing to risk rendering the monarch unconscious, determining his ever-evolving maladies via the cutting-edge monitors wired into the bed, and deciding whether to take him to _Executor_ ’s medical ward.

  
As the younger Sith’s prisoner? Drugged into slumber unaware while Vader dealt with Luke first? Vader doubted he might dare such a thing, but was not willing to ignore the potential exigency. As in the years-long chess game he and Palpatine played during Vader’s increasingly rare visits to Coruscant, the warlord painstakingly considered all his tactics and contingencies. Dr. Paldiri’s report detailing Palpatine’s physical ills and their likely impacts on the ruler’s cognitive functions was complete; Vader would send it to MI, CI, the regional and planetary governors, and the High Command if and when he meant to seize control of his master and the Empire.

But, enough of those thoughts for now….

About half the monitors functioned properly, Vader determined as he flipped switches on various control panels and tested the bed’s sensors. Several pieces of equipment remained silent and unconnected. “I will prioritize the rest, my lord,” Jerjerrod said, clearly chagrined.  
  
  
The Sith merely nodded, far calmer than the Moff obviously had expected. But how could Jerjerrod know that Vader himself was secretly to blame for many of the Death Star’s constant delays? Whether it was the Dark Lord’s criticisms to Palpatine or the High Command, or his carefully scheduled, deliberately drawn-out, and even contradictory demands for design and technological changes (submitted under generic High Command auspices or as if they came from Jenrelm’s MI. Far more daringly, he sometimes implied that his orders came directly from the Throne), Vader had made numerous discreet efforts to slow the battle station’s completion.

And if Palpatine’s suspicious nature prevailed over his many distractions – WeatherNet’s deterioration, Jenrelm’s gallant attentions, the demands of Imperial politics, his body’s slow decline – and inspired him to closely investigate Vader’s role in these delays…? Well, Vader supposed he’d handle that explosion when it happened. It would not be the first time the Dark Lord used his knacks for charisma, boyish ruefulness and charm, or Force-enhanced Persuasion to mitigate the ruler’s intense anger.

“Is everything else to your liking, Lord Vader?”

_Nothing_ about the battle station was to his _liking_ – but again, that was hardly Jerjerrod’s fault.

“If I think of additional changes, I will notify you. Now, leave me.”

The Moff blinked in slight surprise, but came to attention. “Will you be staying with us, sir?”

“No. When I am finished here, I shall return to _Executor_ – without fanfare, Commander. No need for a farewell party in the shuttle bay.”

“I understand, my lord.” The officer nodded with restrained relief, and turned on his booted heel.

For a long moment Vader gazed contemplatively out the massive window over the medical bed, only half-seeing the stars and the glowing green rim of Endor’s sanctuary moon as the Death Star slowly rotated in its imperceptible orbit. His psychic abilities clamored for his notice, but maddeningly, just outside the range of conscious realization. On impulse, the warlord stripped off his heavy gauntlets and rested synthflesh hands upon the bed.

His sensor-laden fingertips registered the fine textures of the luxurious bedclothes, and the coolness of the air – which he had not noticed while utterly encased in his regulated body suit. These rooms were too chilly for the ruler’s comfortable use, should Palpatine defy Vader’s wishes and all common sense and insist on visiting the battle station. Vader would include that fact in his next report to Jerjerrod.

The Dark Lord moved away from the window and the bed, studying his other surroundings and running his hands across a variety of surfaces: wine-colored armchairs and gently curved gray walls; compact wet bar with gleaming bottles, ice bucket, and electronic kettle; conference table and chairs; elegant realwood desktop. All the furnishings were spotless and virginal. Nothing revealed itself to him in this too-new suite – no whispers of knowledge, no flashes of precognitive wisdom.

He had similar results for the docking rig where the Emperor’s personal craft might come and go independently of the Death Star’s normal hangar bays. The walls and floor, the sealed apertures and windows, the stations for royal sentries… everything was blank and quiet. Things were no different in the fourth section of the tower: the viewing area for a massive holographic galactic map. Here, too, the surfaces were immaculate and unrevealing, empty and silent.

That left only one place that might speak to his stubbornly still-discomfited senses. Vader slowly climbed the steel stairs toward the empty royal dais, pausing halfway up the flight. Finally, ghostly imagery teased his peripheral psychic vision. Maddening half-glimpses slid away from his attempts to grasp hold and examine them in close detail:

_Palpatine, leaning heavily on his cane, climbed the staircase – or was he descending? – faltering on the too-slick surface or steep angle…saved by his champion’s arm around his too-narrow waist in the nick of time…_

_But then the moment played out in Vader’s mind’s eye yet again, the warlord delaying his intervention by just a few seconds – reaching out too late, permitting events to unfold as the Force apparently wished, without his timely interference…_

_Palpatine lay motionless on the unforgiving floor, his broken body a frail crumpled heap and his empty features eerie in the bluish light, as the Red Guards knelt one by one before their new Emperor…._

_He shouldn’t have come here,_ a voice whispered in the darkest recesses of Vader’s heart _. How often were you expected to warn him? He did not listen when it was most important, and now he’s brought this upon himself. How can you possibly be to blame?_

_I asked him not to visit this accursed place, not to lure Luke in this fashion._

_“You can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this!”_ he vividly remembered urging the boy on Bespin.

_But surely this was not what Vader had meant. Never had the Dark Lord imagined such a sudden or ignominious – nearly a laughably ordinary and anticlimactic end – for his teacher. Yet now he and his son could rule, live, learn all about one another, at their leisure, without Vader’s terrifying master to interfere…_

He shuddered in mingled horror and desire.

Then everything shifted inside his mind, and he gazed upon a wholly different vista. The enormous window showed hundreds of ships – fleets locked in mortal combat, laser fire eclipsing the stars as he, Palpatine, and his son viewed the unfolding of this aerial armageddon….

_Luke stood next to the massive spider’s web viewport, staring in anguish. Turning to meet the Emperor’s avidly appraising gaze, the boy radiated a potent hatred that singed the air even as Luke attempted to vanquish it. An acrid, scorched smell rose in the Force, swirling together with Palpatine’s alarming coppery death fragrance… Never mind that Vader’s mask prevented the Dark Lord from smelling anything whatsoever, much less nonexistent psychic aromas...._

_Any moment now, at least one of them might die, and he had no idea whom it would or should be._

The warlord closed his eyes, focusing on the grounding rhythms of his respirator. He deliberately recalled Palpatine’s characteristically pleasant scent of sandalwood and cedar, and his fierce concern for the monarch the last time he’d visited Coruscant. Vader raised his shields to their utmost, not knowing whether the Force itself provided his visions, or if the disturbing images arose primarily from his own ambivalent psyche.

_There is no conflict_ , he heard his own voice echo in this future-haunted space, perhaps days or weeks from now. He nearly laughed at his own prideful mendacity.

He might have, if there were one shred of a thing humorous about this battle station, or the grim potential destinies that might unfold within it. Indeed, nothing about today’s insights lessened his conviction that he absolutely must prevent Palpatine from visiting the Death Star. All their lives might be at stake.

Certainly the Emperor’s seemed to be.

Vader opened his eyes. The throne and dais were empty, once more free of disturbing hints and shadows that niggled and burned at the edges of his thoughts. He turned to go back for his gauntlets, still lying on the diagnostic bed where he’d discarded them…

And he froze in place.

  
Across the length of the tower, standing before the bed and circular viewport, was a hooded silhouette. Its black robes and cowl blotted out a portion of the dark starry skies and glowing green moon-edge. Vader lowered his shields fractionally, perhaps irrationally expecting his link with Palpatine to flare into life, even though there was no way his master could be actually, physically present.

  
Perhaps this was a different glimpse of their potential fates, a new thread of precog? Some point in weeks or months to come when the ruler would be here, attempting despite Vader’s protests to bait and destroy the Rebel fleet? To lure and sway Vader’s son….?

_Temptation was always one of his strongest suits, my boy._

It was a voice Vader had never heard before, yet he almost recognized it as it spoke directly into his mind. His skin prickled as the figure turned to stare into Vader’s soul with eyes that weren’t there. The gauntlets dangled from invisible spectral hands.

_You know it better than most_ , the faceless cowled thing continued.

Consulting the data stream at the bottom of his visored gaze, Vader confirmed there was nothing there for the sensors to detect. He raised his shields almost to maximum levels.

_Forget mere technology. Tell me what you feel, Apprentice_. The command held exasperation and fondness combined. He’d heard a nearly identical tone from Palpatine on many occasions.

Only in his twenties when he killed his teacher, had Palpatine failed to fully trap this entity on Korriban? Vader recalled assuring the ruler – and _Force_ , he now hoped he’d not seemed patronizing or cavalier – that nothing dwelt with them in their grim little Etren cave. He wished he were as certain now that such things were impossible, and that Korriban was as sorcerously sealed as countless generations of Sith had steadfastly claimed.

That is, if this phantom truly was what it apparently wanted him to believe, and not some sort of powerful trick…

Whatever the case, the Dark Lord’s loyalty to Palpatine, however frayed and contradictory, now felt unwavering and passionate. Anger and disdain suddenly eclipsed his alarm. He had other gauntlets on _Executor_.

There was no need to approach this…possibly illusory or undead _thing_. Was this interactive entity or shade connected to the Dark Guardian his master had encountered on Dagobah? A faint pounding headache took up residence behind Vader’s eyes.

_You have my divination cards_ , the other said. _What have they shown you?_

Vader strode toward the turbolift, refusing to be goaded, or perhaps compromised in some spiritual or emotional fashion he could not even anticipate. And just how in the _hells_ was the warlord supposed to explain any of this to his master? He’d not even planned to tell Palpatine about this Death Star visit.

_Change your tactics; drop your opposition. Indeed, you should encourage him to come here. When he arrives, you will be prepared. Calm and waiting, and perhaps already here with the boy._

Where was the damned elevator? Ah, yes, Jerjerrod had taken it back to the lower levels….

_You and your son can overpower the Guards when your master arrives. Or let him send them away in his arrogance. He assuredly will; this is private business, after all. Family business._

A universe of scorn and unparsable bitterness echoed in that resonant voice.

Vader saw the images in rapid-fire sequence:

_Palpatine and Luke sizing each other up, Vader caught between them as he’d felt these past three years…_

_Skywalker choosing to fight, to resist, and Palpatine collapsing in the middle of it, too drained to seduce the boy or to summon the killing lightning…_

_The Emperor prone on the diagnostic bed, half-conscious and fading as Vader pinned his master’s quivering soul to this mortal plane and Luke struggled to heal the worst of the elder Sith’s fatal illnesses_ …

_Two pairs of sapphire eyes locking across Palpatine’s pale near-corpse. Then, out of time (And whose fault was that? Who had insisted that they must gather in this fucking place Vader had urged him never to create?), abandoning him to explode along with the doomed Death Star…._

Vader slammed the controls a second time, as if that could make the lift arrive any more quickly.

In a seeming non-sequitur, taunting images arose of Jenrelm and Palpatine drinking wine after the Opera or theater, intimately conversing in the ruler’s low-lit rooms. Vader felt the tingling in his own fingers when the sovereign handed a goblet to the MI officer. He savored Treylan’s spreading pleasant lethargy while Palpatine slowly drained him of stamina before a roaring fire. It was not dissimilar to the Dark Lord’s contented weary languor when he tended his master on Coruscant three weeks ago.

_Can you keep sparing the energy, when you’re the one spilling blood across the galaxy to hold this fractured Empire together? And is this…seductive vampirism what you want for your son?_

For a few seconds, Vader was tempted to turn around and address the other. Resolutely he stared at the turbolift doors, willing them to open.

_The Emperor has had his time. Now it is yours…._

He heard the humming crash of lightsaber blades – twice, thrice, and then nothing more. Eerie silence crawled along his spine.

Then: drip, splash, drop.

Almost involuntarily, he looked in the direction of the new ominous sound – toward the throne, and not the hooded apparition whose eyes-not-eyes scorched the Dark Lord’s broad back.

_One day soon, there shall be a reckoning. The question is: whose?_

Vader ignored the query.

A trail of blood, shockingly bright against the blue-black of the floor, oozed down the steps toward his booted feet, pooling like a scarlet carpet of anti-welcome, perhaps mocking and definitely reinforcing Vader’s grimmest instincts about this place.

His son’s blood? His master’s? His own?

Vader hardly knew whom he most needed to protect – much less how.

He squeezed his eyes shut, reopening them when the godsdamned lift finally greeted him with a pneumatic hiss. The gore had vanished. The floors gleamed cold and clean. Without turning to see if the apparition had also departed, Vader stepped into the elevator and smashed his hand against the controls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Vader's meddling can be downright dangerous.... to everyone.  
> 2\. More soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Let Part One become too overwhelmingly long, I've started Part Two. I have a couple chapters ready to go quite soon!
> 
> 1\. I prefer to give Palpatine no first name in most of my Politics of Empire (PoE) universe, and have never really fallen for "Sheev," although feel free to try to convince me.
> 
> 2\. The Etren crash landing cited throughout this story takes place 5-6 years prior to this story, in "Chains of Command," published years ago in the fanzine _I Don't Care What You Smell_. Message me if you're interested!
> 
> 3\. Other canon characters explored in the prequel films are occasionally referenced and remembered in this story; I use the prequels as a vast buffet from which I take some characters, relationships and ideas, and eschew others. The original trilogy films are my canon source material; the prequels are occasional canon; and the most recent film trilogy is irrelevant.
> 
> 4\. My concept of Darth Plagueis is mainly my own, not informed by other fanfic or official Lucasfilm/Disney writings on the character.


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